Nachtmusik
by Kariel29
Summary: A collection of midnight moments, set post "Kiss." Eventually there will be scenes for all members of the Antares crew - haven't had any inspiration yet for the Earth-bound characters, but it may happen. First fic - reviews welcome!


A/N - Recently rediscovered this series - thanks Netflix! After finally discovering how the season/series ended, felt compelled for the first time to write a fanfic. Reviews and concrit very welcome - if anyone still even follows this community!

The bright white light exploded, engulfing everything but his eyes, which seemed to linger as everything else faded into oblivion.

She awoke with a start, and found herself staring at the ceiling of her darkened cabin. In the confusion of sudden wakefulness, it took her a moment to recognize her surroundings, to get her bearings, to remember when she was. As her mind finished the transition from dreaming to reality, the dream began to fade, but the image of his eyes remained – dark eyes, so dark they seemed black, and in that moment filled with terror, grief, and…something else. Those eyes were a scar on her memory, fresh and tender as the new, pink scars that covered most of her body.

A soft knock at the door dispelled the last of her dream, and restored her equilibrium. She sat up, absently running her fingers through her tousled hair. "Come in," she called.

He pushed her door open, and hesitated. He'd had the dream, too, for the first time since Venus. It's been six weeks since the day she should have died, six weeks since the eternity he spent waiting for her, knowing she would die, knowing he might, too, and knowing that he could not leave her. Since he learned the secret she had kept from him all those years. He had spent as much of that first week as he could keeping vigil beside her bed in the infirmary as she drifted in and out of consciousness, her suffering eased by the mercy of Mintz. When she grew strong enough to bear the pain without sedation, he found himself unable to face her, and began avoiding the infirmary.

She healed faster than anyone thought possible, a miracle no one could explain, so they blamed the objects. Before long she was allowed to return to her cabin, and shortly after that, to light duty. Still he avoided her. Until tonight.

She watched him calmly while he stood there. She didn't remember much from the time she fell into the cage on Venus, with the object cradled in her arms, to when the last of Mintz's sedatives wore off, but she liked to believe that she remembered his lips against hers. She certainly remembered his eyes.

She hadn't pursued him after she woke, viewing his avoidance with the calm acceptance she had taken everything since Venus.

As he continued to stand there, she drew up her knees, making room for him on the bunk in silent invitation. He hesitated a moment longer, then stepped inside the room and closed the door with slow, deliberate movements. He lowered himself gingerly to the bed, afraid to jostle her, swallowed hard, and finally looked at her. She simply looked back.

A long moment passed, and neither spoke.

He reached out, tracing his fingers along the scars that marred her cheek. She and Mintz had had a long talk about those scars, and he'd admitted he didn't know if they'd fade. Normally not – the burns had been bad – but nothing about her healing process so far had been normal. She watched the emotions that flickered across his face, watched him try to control them, and wondered dispassionately if one of them was disgust. He dropped his hand and turned away, burying his own face in his hands. His shoulders shook.

His reaction startled her out of the shell of detachment she had built around herself since Venus, and the full force of what had happened to her – happened to _them_ – hit her all at once. She began to understand what he must have felt as he sat helpless, watching her move further and further away, ignoring his pleas to return. She began to truly appreciate the strength it had taken for him to wait, to risk his own life, on the slim hope that she would make it back to him alive. She reached for him, needing him to know she was here, she was _safe _and whole, and they were together. She found herself suddenly in his lap, their arms wrapped around one another – hers clinging tightly, his somewhat more reserved, as though afraid to hurt her, his face buried against her neck, her cheek against his hair. She finally allowed herself to cry, and cried for the things that had been, the things that hadn't, for the things that never would be. She wept for the man who left his lover and his friend behind to die when he had no other choice, and for the man who, when faced with the same decision, had refused to leave her. She wept for the child that might have been, for the children that would never be.

The tears eventually subsided, the tension eased, but still they remained locked in the embrace.

When the alarm woke her, she was once more alone. She rose and began her routine, like any other morning. This morning, however, there wasn't the anxiety of the time before Venus, or the detached calm of afterwards.

She opened her door, and stepped out into the hall at the same moment he did. Their eyes met, and for the first time since Venus, he smiled. The expression was echoed in his eyes. As much as she loved his smile, it was the look in his eyes that stayed with her as she started her day.

This morning, there was peace. That, and a smile in his eyes.


End file.
